


Something To Think About

by metallicphoenix



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metallicphoenix/pseuds/metallicphoenix
Summary: For Miles Upshur, recent life has been dull at best and terrible at worst. When he gets an email from an unknown whistleblower, however, he's thrust into an unimaginable nightmare he is forced to navigate if he has any hopes of getting out alive to tell the story of what happened to the patients there. Miles isn't only trying to avoid the dangers lurking at every corner; he is also trying to avoid the memories of someone who used to be dear to him. Someone who's also trapped at the asylum, and won't leave him alone.





	1. Always and Nevers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and update this weekly! I may end up putting warnings before each chapter once things start at the asylum  
> Anyway I hope you enjoy this, thanks for reading!!!
> 
> Song for the chapter: Epilogue by The Antlers

Miles had been awake for a long time before he opened his eyes. Laying in bed was always so relaxing, and keeping his eyes closed gave him the chance to slip between dreams and reality.. His body refused to let him do that forever, though, and eventually he lost his grip on the blissful in-between he craved so desperately. If he had to have his eyes open, Miles supposed he could look for faces in the popcorn ceiling above him. He’d always hated that ceiling.

Eyes spent time traveling across the ceiling, finding little shapes that would morph if he looked away or stared too long. There was the face of a dog he’d seen lately when he walked to the convenience store, an angry queen he could have sworn he’d seen in a cartoon. Miles knew forcing images didn’t work often, but he attempted to find a dinosaur. Any kind would be fine, he wasn’t picky. Instead, the popcorn granted him a deer. A bit to the right of that was a pig-

Miles sat up quickly. No more looking at the ceiling. If he continued, he’d never stop looking at the pig, and then he’d have to think about-

He stumbled towards the bathroom. Getting up was stupid, he’d decided. He’d never been a fan of getting out of bed no matter the time of day. This feeling had only grown since… well, when it got worse didn’t matter. No, what mattered was that the first steps of consciousness were always a struggle and Miles never knew what to do first. Should he shower? Probably, at some point. When was the last time he did that? He should shave, too. And eat something. No, alcohol isn’t food. Don’t do that. Finally stopped doing that, don’t start again.

Miles decided he could splash some water on his face. Guys did that in movies all the time. Once the water was running, however, he realized he would rather not get all wet.

‘ _You should,_ ’ his mind whispered. ‘ _Chris would want you to._ ’

Fuck. It was too early to be thinking about him. He usually lasted longer.

As a compromise, Miles got a washcloth wet and wiped his face with it. That counted as washing his face, right? Yeah, who needs fancy soaps with water right in reach!

There. He was responsible, he could take care of himself. Never had a problem with it before. Miles felt a pang in his stomach, a little reminder of something else he had to do. Too many little things that needed to be done, yet there wasn’t enough to do either. The days repeated too much. It’d be different if _he_ was here.

Miles shaved, managing to do it without cutting himself, and grinned at the mirror afterwards. _There_ was his handsome face. Somehow, it felt as if he hadn’t seen himself in a while. Even if he had shaved not too long ago. It must be something else, then. He felt some sort of odd confidence inside him, a feeling that had no right to be there but had decided to visit anyway. An old friend.

Well, if that was how it was going to be, then he ought to do something today, shouldn’t he? Wouldn’t wanna waste a burst of an important thing like confidence. Chris had told him that you should never waste it. Or maybe he’d been the one to tell Chris. Didn’t matter. No use in thinking about back then when this is now. No wars here. None with guns, anyway.

Miles made his way towards the kitchen. He stopped by a calendar in the hall. It had a cute golden retriever puppy in a basket as the month’s picture, and Miles couldn’t help but smile at it.

“So, three cans of ravioli tonight, right?”

The puppy stared in response.

“Fine, fine. Is lemon pepper chicken good?”

More staring.

“Great, I can make that in only twenty minutes. Nice talkin’ to ya.”

Miles grabbed his jacket and a pack of cigarettes off the kitchen counter before heading outside. A smoke, and then breakfast. Today was going to be a good day.

 

* * *

 

Nope. Nope nope nope. He’d eaten, he’d showered, straightened up the place. Everything a normal person would do. So why did he still feel like shit?

‘ _You haven’t written in awhile,_ ’ his mind said.

 “There haven’t been any good jobs,” he replied aloud, feeling like he needed to defend himself. “It’s not my fault. I can’t make jobs magically appear.” Miles sighed. This sounded like part of a conversation he’d had before. Something he didn’t want to relive.

He could go look for jobs. Journalists found shit all the time. Surely he could too. He was Miles Upshur, damn it, he could do anything he wanted!

Miles decided instead of looking for a story that needed his journalistic expertise, he’d drink. And drink. And drink. Not that he meant to drink that much, but these things happen. Sometimes, things just happen.

 

* * *

 

Miles smiled in his half-awake state, eyes closed. There was a presence beside him. All those bad feelings, bad things that had happened, they were all just apart of some nightmare. Life was good, Chris was there. Chris was with him.

“Hey.” Miles spoke softly, voice full of affection. His eyes opened slowly, and his smile dropped as he saw the empty space where someone should have been. No one had been there at all. He’d been gone for a long time. He wasn’t there.

Miles never could have guessed how this little mistake would cause his heart to ache so much. Feeling the physical pain of it startled him somewhat. He sat up, glancing towards the end of the bed, towards an empty part of the room.

He quickly turned his head to stare at his lap. That spot was where Chris had proposed. He always avoided looking over there. He should have looked at the door, should have looked at the door. How could he have slipped up?

Miles made his way to the living room, not caring enough to see how long he’d slept. Life was still awful, what did it matter? No, he wanted to check his computer. There could be some interesting news, maybe, or he could play Cookie Clicker. Cookie Clicker was fun.

Scrolling endlessly, however, was not. There was nothing fun online, nothing that could make him care even a little bit.

Until the alert.

The little notice in the corner of the screen letting him know he’d gotten an email.

Finally, something exciting! Miles sat up straight and quickly made his way to the inbox. He wasn’t expecting what he’d found.

 

_From: 10260110756@mutemail.com_

_To: milesupshur@gmail.com_

_Subject: TIP / Illegal Activity at Murkoff Psychiatric Systems_

 

_You don't know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring._

_I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems' facilities in Mount Massive._ _All sorts of NDA's I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys._

_Terrible things happening there. Don't understand it. Don't believe half the things I saw.  Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountain. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money._

_It needs to be exposed._

 

Huh. Miles sat back, rereading the words over and over. His mind was racing. That’s where Chris was. Chris was there and bad things were happening. Whether he wanted to see him or not, Miles had to go to help him. And everyone else there, of course. Chris was just extra motivation. Extra confidence.

Miles rushed around, trying to gather everything and anything he could need. He probably shouldn’t bring that much, now that he thought about it. Files, notes, camera… The ecstasy had long faded to urgency. It always did that, but this urgency was more than any he’d felt before.

He grinned. “Fuck yeah, time to expose some bitches and kick some ass!” He knew it wouldn’t be that simple, but saying that made him feel better, and he’d need any sort of uplifting he could get.

Before he left, he opened a drawer by the couch and pulled out a pair of dog tags. Miles stared at them for a moment. They held a lot of weight, a lot of memories. They’d been with him through war, through the toughest investigations. They were important. They’d have to come too.

Miles put the tags in his pocket. It was odd, feeling them there. It’d been awhile.

Of course, if he was going to take the dog tags, he might as well take the photo they’d been resting on. Miles went to the Jeep without looking at it.

When he sat in the Jeep, he allowed himself to look at the photo. He always tried to avoid looking at photographs of him and Chris. Or anything that could remind him of his used-to-be lover.

But this time, it hurt less. Miles looked the picture over. He and Chris were standing together, Miles in his jacket, Chris in a tank top. Both wore their tags. Chris had his arm draped over Miles’ shoulder. They were smiling.

Miles wiped his eyes. This was no time to get emotional. He had to hurry to Mount Massive. He had to get the story, find every dirty detail Murkoff didn’t want the public to know and tell the story, his biggest one yet.

He had to find Chris.

Miles sped off towards his destination, heart beating as fast as he drove. A small voice in his head mentioned fears. That he was heading into a disaster, a trap, that he wouldn’t find Chris, that he’d be pissed to see him there. That Murkoff would destroy him. But he pushed all that aside, and focused on the road ahead. This was his duty, and a soldier always did their duty

 


	2. A Journey Down Memory Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting late, school started up and I'm in the process of getting a job. I'll try to post regularly.
> 
> Song for this chapter: The Bad News of Threes by Koethe

_“You won’t believe what I got,” Miles said, leading Chris outside. “It’s great, you’re gonna love it. I know I do.”_

_Chris stopped at the top of the driveway, while Miles made his way closer to the red car parked there. He struck a pose as if presenting some fantastic thing he’d found on an adventure._

_“Tada! What do ya think?”_

_Chris stood with folded arms. “I think you have bad taste,” was all he said._

_Miles laughed. “Aw, come on, babe, he’s not_ that _bad.”_

_An eyebrow raised. “Let me guess, you named it, too.” When the only response was a grin, Chris sighed. “Tell me.”_

_Miles’ eyes lit up. “His name is Reap.”_

_“...Reap?”_

_“Yeah, like red Jeep! Though, I like to think of it as a shortened version of Reaper. Much cooler.”_

_You aren’t cool,” Chris replied, finally smiling as he made his way over to his partner._

_Miles pouted. “Don’t be mean, Chrispy. I’m the coolest and you know it.”_

_Chris chuckled and kissed his forehead. “Alright. You win, Little Pig.”_

 

* * *

 

The drive was taking longer than Miles had anticipated. In his rush to get to Mount Massive, he’d failed to take into account that the drive would take a long time. The music on the radio was shit, and channels with chatter were boring. His inability to focus on the conversations meant that Miles was left mostly with his thoughts. The endless road allowed the mind to wander to minor things, to forgotten things, and to things Miles wished he could forget.

If he had to think, then he would think about what he would do when he got there. What could he do? There were some tricky folks there. He couldn’t just bust down the door and get what information he needed. He couldn’t just interview patients, or workers. Fuck, it’d be a miracle if he could even get _in_. Murkoff probably wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him.

What was he even doing?

 

* * *

   

_Miles sunk into the couch. His whole body ached, his hands burned, and he didn’t even get the information he wanted. He shut his eyes. This sucked._

_After some time, he felt someone sit beside him. He opened an eye and was greeted with Chris smiling softly and holding out a bottle._

_“Ale. Red Seal.” He paused before saying, “It didn’t go well.”_

_Miles huffed, sitting up and taking the bottle. Chris had been nice enough to take off the cap for him. “It went fine. Way more broken glass than I’m used to, remind me to bring gloves with me next time.”_

_They sat in silence, Miles drinking, Chris waiting until Miles had more control over his emotions before taking any action. Miles had gotten a lot better about controlling his anger, but everyone slipped up sometimes, and Chris didn’t want to push it._

_Eventually, Miles set the bottle down. Empty._

_“Thanks,” he said. He wasn’t willing to look at Chris yet, but he gently took his hand in his own. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do too much tonight. I feel like I’ll have some sort of fit if I try.”_

_Chris nodded. That was fine with him. “Let’s go to bed.”_

_Miles looked at him, almost offended. “It’s not even five! I’m injured, not eighty.”_

_“A nap,” he suggested. “You prefer night anyway. We could even order pizza.”_

_Miles broke out into a grin. Chris had won. “Alright. But only because you’re laying with me.”_

_Chris stood before helping Miles up. Still holding his hand, he lead him towards the bedroom._

_“Do you feel well enough for a card game?”_

_“I definitely will after some rest. What sort?”_

_“Apples To Apples.”_

_“What?!” Miles gawked. “No way! Your pig has won two times in a row, I don’t want it to be a third!”_

 

* * *

 

 

_The silence swayed between biting at the gut and settling into a numb uneasiness._

_Books and other cared for items were strewn across the floor._

_There was a hole in the wall._

_A broken vase lay still._

_Chris couldn't speak. The silence spent more time biting him than not, and it was deserved. He had done this. His mind had played a trick on him and he’d lost control. How could Miles lay beside him so easily? Was he too afraid to leave? What an awful feeling. He could leave, he had to know that. Moving felt wrong, as if it would cause the cops to kick down the door the moment he did. So he didn’t. Instead Chris squeezed his hands together, eventually digging his nails into the tops of them._

_The silence that tortured Miles was numbing. The world felt empty, dull. Was Chris there? Yes, probably. Didn’t matter. (It does, he had to remind himself. It does.) Miles supposed Chris’ actions were similar to his own reaction to fireworks. Funnily enough he liked those. And he liked Chris. So he stayed by his side, knowing Chris needed him. They’d fought together in Afghanistan, they’d fight together here., too._

_They laid in silence, searching for faces in the ceiling. Miles could only find fuzzy images, nothing he could truly grasp. Chris was too frazzled to find anything at first, but was able to find small pictures after some time. Time. How much had passed? Minutes, hours? Too long either way._

_Miles was the one to break the silence. “I know you’re sorry. You don’t have to say it right now. You didn’t mean it, it was a reflex. I understand. I promise.”_

_Chris managed a small nod. A weight lifted off of him, but he couldn’t get up. His legs felt useless, his body was chained down. There was no hope._

_Miles got up, and for a moment Chris was afraid he wouldn’t come back. He couldn’t bare to watch. Relief filled him once he felt Miles return._

_“Guess who I got?” Miles spoke in a sing-song way, trying to lighten to mood as he held a small stuffed pig in Chris’ view. He laughed at the excitement in his partner’s wide eyes._

_Miles gently set the pig on Chris’ stomach, and it was grabbed soon after._

_“Hey, we could do something, if you’d like. We could colour, or watch a movie. Your pick. I’ll cook tonight.”_

_Chris nodded, holding the pig up to his chest as he closed his eyes. Bliss consumed him._

 

* * *

 

 

_The weekend had been absolutely fantastic. They’d gone to the movies, an arcade, gotten ice cream, ended up at a bookstore at some point, endless moments of fun. Even being at home was amazing. Cuddling, playing games, eating junk. Everything was so perfect. Miles tried not to be suspicious, but he couldn’t help it._

_“What’re you planning, Chris?” He asked with a grin. “I know you’re planning some big thing. There’s no way this is just a party weekend just because we deserve it- which we do.. But there has to be more! So… Tell me your secret!”_

_Chris shook his head. “There is no secret. And if there was you wouldn’t get to know until the right moment. No amount of begging could get you the answer you want.”_

_“Not even puppy dog eyes?”_

_“No.”_

_Miles sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll wait. It’s just hard, ya know? I really,_ really _wanna know what you have planned.”_

_“Wait. You’ll see.”_

_“A_ **_ha!_ ** _There_ is _something!”_

_Chris laughed a little. “You win, Little Pig.” He kissed Miles’ forehead. “But you still have to wait.”_

_Waiting wasn’t too hard when Miles was distracted with everything they were doing. He was surprised Chris was okay with doing so much- he usually didn’t like doing a lot in one day- but appreciated all he had planned. Planned. Oh, what was he hiding? He couldn’t think of anything. Well, for a moment he had a guess, but immediately dismissed it. There was no way Chris was doing that._

_Chris and Miles sat together, watching the sunset._

_“Chris, this weekend was awesome.. Thank you.”_

_He nodded. “Of course. But… You haven’t seen the biggest thing yet.”_

_Chris held his hand as when they walked home. Miles tried hard to ignore the twisting feeling of anxiety in his stomach. He couldn’t be right, he couldn’t be._

_They went to the bedroom._

_And Chris took both of Miles’ hands in his._

_Miles could barely hear him as he said the sweetest things, as he spoke about how important Miles was to him and how much he loved him._

_He managed to focus once Chris let go of his hands, and got down on one knee._

_With a small smile, Chris presented a box with a beautiful ring inside. “Miles, will you marry me?”_

 

* * *

 

 

The white noise chatter of the radio became chopped into static, drawing Miles’ attention back to the drive. Huh. Must be jammed on purpose. Bastards.

He pulled up in front of the security box and parked. He was here. He was here and he had everything he needed. He grabbed his camera, playing with it for a moment to make sure it was working fine before grabbing everything else and exiting the Jeep.

Miles let out a shaky sigh. This would be fine. He was gonna take these fuckers down, no matter what. Nothing could stop him. He wouldn’t let it.

Under the fence, to the side of the building, up through a window.. And darkness. Great.

He felt a pit in his stomach. Not the usual anxiety feeling of breaking into a place. This was worse. Something had happened. He didn’t know what, but he knew it was going to be something fucked up. How fucked up he wouldn’t be able to guess.

Halls were empty. There was blood. Of course there was. He had to be careful, he could get attacked, or something. Who knows. What was with this place?

In a vent, out a vent, through a door, BAM hanging body. Fuck. What the fuck.

Miles made his way through the darkness, trying to ignore the nasty smell. He was startled to see a guy on a pole, and even more startled when he started to speak. Telling him that the ‘variants’ got out, that they were too strong to fight. That he had to hide and try to get out before he was met with the certain death that awaited him here.

Great.

The nearby shelves held many decapitated heads, like a collection. So, Miles was up against very strong people and a head collector. Okay, that’s fine. He could manage that.

He couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor dead soldier, but he had to push that aside. He wouldn’t be able to get out if he spent time feeling bad for and mourning everyone he came across.

Variants… Got out. Patients, maybe? Patients. Fuck… The Whistleblower had been right, something _fucked_ was going on.

Was the Whistleblower alright? Had he been ripped apart yet?

Miles hoped not.

He snuck out of the room, made his way down the hall as quiet as possible. He could have sworn he’d seen something, or someone. He tried to be as quick and stealthy as possible.

Junk blocked the way, cabinets that left just enough room to squeeze through. Miles started making his way through the gap when someone grabbed his arm and pulled him out.

“ ** _Little pig!_ ** ” A voice said.

For a brief moment, Miles was face to face with a scarred, crackly faced man. And in those eyes he saw-

Miles screamed as he was thrown through the glass, and he fell like a doll dropped by a child.

 


End file.
